


I Want Auroras and Sad Prose

by carmenfoster14



Category: Carmen Sandiego (Cartoon 2019)
Genre: Big Vocabulary, F/F, Song: the lakes (Taylor Swift), proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:35:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28836432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carmenfoster14/pseuds/carmenfoster14
Relationships: Julia "Jules" Argent/Ivy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	I Want Auroras and Sad Prose

_ Julia _

“Isn’t it romantic how all of these melancholic poems are essentially praise?” I muttered sarcastically.

I wasn’t cut out for dealing with the cynical clones, the hunters with cell phones who constantly scrutinized me for being a woman in my field.

“Take me to the lakes where all the poets went to die,” I groaned as I leaned back onto the couch.

“I don’t belong, and my beloved, neither do you,” Ivy soothed. Her rough hands rubbed my shoulder, trying to release tension.

“Maybe not, but those Windermere peaks look perfect for crying.”   
“I’m not going without you,” Ivy joked, “My muse.”

I snorted.

“Hey, are you okay? I know you’re stressed, but you just seem really down and out right now.”

Ivy’s concerned voice was enough to crack me open.

“As a woman in law enforcement, I faced a lot of scrutiny, especially at Interpol. A lot less now, but a few new A.C.M.E. agents still have some audacity. And it’s a really stupid thing to be upset about, I know more than anyone, and I should be used to it by now, but that scrutiny burrows into my skin every time I mess up. It’s so drilled into me that only perfection is tolerable that every time I’m less than perfect, my heart practically stops,” I admit. “It’s stupid, I know. I just… can’t get over it.”

“Baby, it’s not stupid. Just remember that you have come too far and worked too hard to let some name-dropping sleaze determine the worth of your words. You are quite possibly the best A.C.M.E. agent I know.”

“Thank you.”

“Get in the car,” I said as I jumped up. “Wear something nice, also. And bring a jacket. It’ll be cold.”

We were going to the lake where all the poets went to die.

I spotted those Windermere peaks, perfect for crying.

I made sure I had the ring.

“I want to read auroras and sad prose and watch wisteria grow between my toes like I haven’t moved in years. I want you to be there as a red rose springs from the frozen ground, no one there to tweet it. I want you to be there with me as I bathe in cliffside pools of my insurmountable love and grief.” I got down on one knee, pulling out the box with the ring. “So, will you marry me?”

Ivy gasped.

“I was gonna propose!” she exclaimed, pulling a box out of her coat.

I pushed my glasses up on my nose.

“Well, what do you say?” I asked with a laugh.

“Yes, of course!” 

I scooped her up, making her flush red.

And there we were, at the lakes where all the poets went to die.


End file.
